


Enough By Half

by ChronicTonsillitis



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Becho Breakup, Canon Universe, Coda, Episode: s06e02 Red Sun Rising, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Love Confessions, Season/Series 06, Suicidal Thoughts, lowkey a season 6 rewrite, why do they never talk about things I swear to ever loving god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:33:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23367754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicTonsillitis/pseuds/ChronicTonsillitis
Summary: “Fat lot that’s worth. Clarke's in love with you and she still left you to die.”“She’s not—“ Bellamy stuttered, his face red. The air in the room felt like it had gone up a couple degrees. He tried consciously to relax his jaw, and failed. “You’re just speculating.”Murphy eyed him doubtfully. “Sure, if it makes you feel better. But you know I’m right. And for what it’s worth, you should probably address it at some point. Echo is going to notice eventually.”“Even if you were right—which you aren’t—why would Echo care how Clarke felt?”Murphy shrugged as if the answer should be obvious. “Because you’re in love with Clarke too.”****Conversations I wish had happened post-eclipse, aka Bellamy realizing things  (this kinda turned into a season 6 rewrite, but whatever)
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 44
Kudos: 377





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for mention of canon suicidal ideation/attempts

Bellamy sat by Murphy’s bedside, his head clasped in his hands. His leg ached, and he tried not to think about the circumstances leading up to it. His feelings were too conflicted, too confused, _too much_. He didn’t want to think about what he had done to Clarke, or to Murphy, or what Clarke had done to him.

A groan slid from Murphy’s lips and Bellamy’s head whipped up. Murphy blinked twice, his expression dour. 

“Welcome back,” Bellamy said gently. “How are you feeling? I’m sorry about— I’m really sorry.”

Murphy groaned again. “Fuck off, Blake, you won’t be the end of me. If this planet manages to kill me though, I’m going to be very pissed off.”

Bellamy’s lip quirked up in a half smile that fell rapidly as Murphy attempted to haul himself to sitting. He reached in to help. “Hey buddy, take it easy, okay?”

“Knock it off, mom.” Murphy smacked his hands away and pulled himself the rest on the way up, leaning back against the headboard. “So how’s everybody else doing? Anybody else laid up or do I win?”

"You win, I guess." Murphy pumped a fist in the air and Bellamy sighed, sitting back in his chair. “Emotionally, it’s questionable but physically? Jackson and Miller are awake and fine, Miller got his arm stitched up. Emori has bruised wrists from fighting the restraints but that’s about it. Echo tranqued herself before anything could happen so she’s awake and okay. I’ve got a mild stab wound but it’s been stitched up.” 

He paused, his eyes cast down on the ground. Murphy urged him on. “And Clarke?”

Bellamy felt his heart clench in his chest and he shrugged. “She’s doing okay, I assume.”

Murphy’s eyes narrowed. “You assume?”

He nodded. “She has some bruises on her throat and a bit of a cut which I guess is from…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He turned over his hands, fidgeting uncomfortably. Bellamy continued, “I guess it’s from my nails, or something.”

Murphy rolled his eyes. “You haven’t talked to her? I thought everything was all good and forgiven between you and the princess.”

Bellamy shook his head, tapping his fingers nervously against the chair. It _was_ fine, and is wasn't, all at once. Everything with Clarke was so complicated, all the time. “It is. Or it was, it’s just—”

“A minor stab wound?” Murphy guessed. Bellamy let out a strangled laugh. If there was ever a time when a stab wound was the least of his worries; and honestly, there had been way too many opportunities for that exact situation; it was now.

“Fuck my leg, I deserved it. Murphy, I tried to kill you.” Murphy shrugged in response and Bellamy continued, his voice going soft. “I— I tried to kill Clarke. I almost did it. If you hadn’t stopped me— I watched the light start to leave her eyes. I did that.”

Murphy scoffed and rolled his eyes. “She’s alive, Bellamy. Like we haven’t all tried to kill each other every once in a while. Now you guys are even till next time.”

That wasn’t enough. Not for Bellamy. He lowered his shaking hands to his lap, fighting back guilty tears.

“Besides,” Murphy continued, “If you hadn’t gone off, she’d have just done it herself. God knows she probably would have been successful, too.”

Bellamy’s head jerked up, his eyes flashing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everybody else was going nuts trying to off each other.” Murphy waved a hand dismissively. “Clarke was just interested in offing herself.”

_No._ Bellamy’s chest seized, his body flooding with panic. “What? How do you know?”

“Caught her talking to a radio with the power off, pressing a knife to her throat.” Murphy caught the crazed look in Bellamy’s eyes. “Relax, psycho. I talked her down and she still came riding in to save you, or I guess me as it ended up.”

“But— you’re sure that was what she was doing? Why would it affect her like that but nobody else?” Bellamy’s mind was racing, trying to find explanations. None of them were anything he even remotely wanted to entertain.

“Hell if I know why, but the gesture was pretty hard to misinterpret. I guess I’d better let up on her a little. It’s not the right way for a cockroach to go out.”

“Shut the fuck up, Murphy!” Bellamy snapped, his hand coming down hard on the arm of his chair. He was practically shaking, the fear boiling over into rage. “How can you be so dismissive of this? I’ve let you guys act like she was the bad guy for too long without saying anything, but I’m saying it now. Clarke is our friend, our family, no matter what happened on Earth. She has given everything she has for us, more times than I can count. She makes the impossible decisions because no one else will, and we sometimes hate her for it, but she keeps us alive.”

Murphy's eyebrows lifted, his expression almost amused, and Bellamy hated it. “Oh yeah, Mr. Left-to-die-in-the-pits? How exactly was leaving you to die and working with the enemy supposed to keep us alive?”

Bellamy clenched his fist, shaking his head as if he could push away the words. “I betrayed her by putting the flame in Madi’s head. I left her chained up just like I did when she came back after Polis. I did it to save her, but she couldn’t have known that. She was just trying to protect her family.”

“Oh yeah? I thought we were her family.”

“We are! Or we were. But at that moment, we weren’t acting like it. Madi was all she had, for years. She waited for us, she called me on the radio every day, but we came back and everything went to shit.”

Murphy chuckled and Bellamy shot him a glare. “Don’t act like you weren’t just as happy to see she was alive when we came down. Don’t act like you didn’t mourn her too.”

“I don’t know about _just as_ happy.” Murphy said under his breath. Louder, he continued, “Look, obviously I was glad she hadn’t died to save us? But me and Clarke never had a particularly warm relationship. Let’s not act like she did it for me.”

Bellamy fixed him with a hot gaze. “Clarke cares about you.”

Murphy scoffed. “Fat lot that’s worth. She’s in love with you and she still left you to die.”

Bellamy sucked in a sharp breath and Murphy groaned. “Forget I said that.”

“She’s not—“ Bellamy stuttered, his face red. The air in the room felt like it had gone up a couple degrees. He tried consciously to relax his jaw, and failed. “You’re just speculating.”

Murphy eyed him doubtfully. “Sure, if it makes you feel better. But you know I’m right. And for what it’s worth, you should probably address it at some point. Echo is going to notice eventually.”

“Even if you were right—which you aren’t—why would Echo care how Clarke felt?” Bellamy wrung his hands, his body tense.

Murphy shrugged as if the answer should be obvious. 

“Because you’re in love with Clarke too,” he said simply, and Bellamy flinched. He felt guilt, doubt pool heavy in his stomach. It felt wrong to contradict it, when it was so obviously true. It had been a fact of his life for so long, longer than he’d even known Echo. Space was a vacuum, water was wet, and Bellamy Blake loved Clarke Griffin.

He flexed his fingers reflexively, shaking out a fist. His nails had left deep indentations on the palm of his hand. “I love Echo.”

Murphy raised his hands placatingly. “Sure you do. But she’s not Clarke Griffin, and she never will be, and eventually, that’s going to be a problem. Though—“ he paused, a mean smirk curling his lips, “—it probably wouldn’t be as big of an issue if Clarke had actually managed to off herself.”

The slap rang out loud in the silence of the room. Murphy clutched his red cheek and barked out a laugh, watching Bellamy’s back as he stormed through the door. “Ah,” he said. “There he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quarantine has me finishing things from last year. have some old dirt, folks.
> 
> part 2, if I ever finish it, is a confrontation with clarke
> 
> comments n kudos always appreciated and enjoyed, especially in these trying times


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> big angsty disaster ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for semi suicidal Clarke

Bellamy found her on a bench, overlooking the fields of Sanctum. Clarke was alone, the same way she had been most of the time since they’d landed on earth all those years ago, he realized.

She had never been close with the others, at least not in the casual way the rest of them had. She loved them, and she took care of them, and she fought for them, but it was rare for Clarke to just hang out with her friends. There was always something she had to do, some problem she had to solve, somebody she had to save.

Even when they had been co-leaders, he thought, even when they had trusted each other with everything, the time they spent together had always been heavy. He couldn't remember her doing anything just for fun since maybe their only Unity Day on Earth. And god knows how that turned out.

His footsteps crunched on the gravel as he approached, and she glanced back at him. She smiled softly and turned her gaze back towards the fields.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Clarke asked. Bellamy looked out, coming to stand stiffly at her shoulder.

“Guess so,” he replied with a shrug, “When it’s not trying to kill us.”

Clarke barked out a laugh. “If we can’t find beauty in things that have tried to kill us, then I’ve just about run out of options.”

She looked up at him and he felt his throat tighten. He wondered if he was a new addition to this category or if he'd been in there since the beginning.

“What about Madi?” Bellamy asked.

“Beautiful, of course, no matter what. But…” She held out one leg and tugged up her pant leg. Bellamy sucked in a harsh breath as he took in the raised scars ringing her ankle.

“Bear trap,” Clarke acknowledged. She shrugged. “Came at me with a knife once I was caught, got my arm pretty good too. I was a stranger to her at that point. Can’t blame her.”

Bellamy couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gruesome marks on her skin. “That looks—“

“Bad?” Clarke said lightly. She tugged her pants back down over her ankle, covering it again. “I know. It got a little infected. My fault.”

Bellamy felt anxiety, or maybe sadness, settle deep in his belly. 

“Clarke—“ he started, but she cut him off.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry—” she continued, voice pitched up high as she glanced down at his thigh, “—about your leg. Did you get it stitched up?”

Bellamy nodded silently. She looked back down at her lap, hands fidgeting.

“Good. Better keep an eye on how much you’re using it. You don’t want to tear any of the stitches. I really didn’t want—”

“Clarke,” Bellamy choked out. “Stop. You don’t have to apologize to me, not for this.”

“Sorry,” she said quietly, and Bellamy let out a strangled laugh.

“Are you apologizing for apologizing?”

She grinned weakly, eyes still downcast. “I guess I am.”

“Clarke, seriously. You have nothing to apologize for. I tried— to you and to Murphy, I tried—” Bellamy stopped, swallowing thickly. “Thank you. For stopping me.”

Clarke shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “I wouldn’t have let you kill Murphy. I just wish I hadn’t had to—“ she gestured to his leg,“You know. Hurt you.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows furrowed deeply. “That’s not—” he stopped, his voice tight with frustration. He knelt in front of her, one hand coming to rest on hers, stilling her fidgeting. She met his gaze. “I tried to kill you, Clarke. I don’t care what you did.”

Bellamy reached out slowly, tilting her chin up so he could see the dark ring of bruises his fingers had left on the tender skin of her throat. His breath caught audibly and Clarke’s eyes widened. Her hand flew up to cover the shallow cut hidden in the crease of her neck.

“Did I do that?” He asked softly.

She looked away and shook her head, hand still pressed tightly to her throat. He slid his hand to hers and gently peeled it away, running a finger along the length of the gash.

“What is the cut from, Clarke?”

She stuttered. “Oh— it’s nothing. Just another fun part of the psychosis but really it’s fine. You don’t have to worry.”

His eyes were dark and imploring, searching her face more intently than she’d have preferred, and Clarke flinched away. “Murphy told me.”

His voice was so deep a shiver ran through her. “Told you? Told you what?”

“He told me what you did— what you tried to do. To yourself.”

Clarke scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. “He doesn’t know what I was doing. He wasn’t there.”

“Oh yeah?” Bellamy asked lowly. “So you weren’t trying to slit your own throat?”

Clarke shrugged and Bellamy grew more and more desperate, leaner closer, closing in on her. “Tell me it isn’t true, Clarke. Tell me you didn’t try to kill yourself.”

Clarke wrapped her arms around herself protectively. “It was just the eclipse, Bellamy. We all did things.”

His hands clasped around her upper arms and she looked up into his eyes but they were too close, too sincere. Her hands fell back to her lap. “But why? Why would you even think to do that?”

She shrugged again. “It’s not like I’ve been the safest person to be around for a while. I guess I just thought if I removed myself from the equation, maybe things could finally get better. It wasn’t like— it wasn’t like before.”

“Before?” Bellamy repeated, his voice breaking. “You’ve tried this before?”

With a deep breath, Clarke continued, “During Praimfaya, before I found the valley, it got rough for a while. I had no food and no water for days and I just— I wanted to be done. But then I found it. This was different. I just thought—I thought I could protect Madi better, protect you better, by being gone.”

Tears welled up in Bellamy’s eyes and a tight ball of panic rested high in his throat. Whatever the worst thing he had thought, this was worse. “You were wrong. Clarke, you would do anything for her. She lucky to have you, we’re all lucky to have you.”

She shook her head. “The things I’ve done, for myself, for our people, for Madi— a good person wouldn’t do those things. A good mother wouldn’t do those things. A better person would’ve found ways to save her people without the prices I’ve paid. If I hadn’t been there, so many things would’ve gone better. A better leader would’ve—"

“Stop, please—"

She smiled sadly at him, meeting his eyes. “You were always right. People die when I’m in charge, Bellamy. And they die when I’m not in charge, because I somehow find a way to ruin things anyways.”

“It was never just you in charge, Clarke. If there’s blood on your hands, it’s on mine too. You didn’t make those decisions alone.”

She laughed harshly, her voice catching in her throat. “Didn’t I? I know you supported me, and others did too. But your hand on top of mine on the lever didn’t change the fact that I was the one who’d made the plan. I would’ve done it myself.”

He could feel his heart flying in his chest. “You did those things to save us. To protect the people you love.”

“Ah, the people I love,” she repeated bitterly. “What about all the people I loved who died because of me, to protect me? My dad, Wells, Lexa. Or Finn, who I loved so much I killed him myself? Or—” her gaze flicked to his for a second, then fell back to her hands, “What about you?”

His hands cupped hers in her lap. “Clarke, I’m here. I’m alive. You didn’t kill me.”

“Not for lack of trying,” she said. “How many times now have I sent you into mortal danger? Pointed a gun at you? Left you to die? What kind of person does that to someone she loves? I love you, and despite that, I’ve almost killed you.”

Bellamy shrugged, his thumb rubbing a circle into the soft skin of her wrist. His chest was tight, and he tried not to think about his earlier conversation with Murphy. She didn’t mean— she couldn’t. “Well, I’ve now tried to kill Murphy at least three times, that doesn’t mean—”

“No, Bellamy,” Clarke said quietly, and his heart stopped. “I _love_ you.”

Bellamy’s hands froze on hers and he reeled back as if he’d been slapped. His mind raced, unable to process her words; his thoughts unable to coalesce into something solid, something he could say. Inhaling sharply, he started, “I don’t—”

But Clarke was already pulling her hands back, wrapping her arms around herself. “I know. And I know you didn’t need to hear it. But you have to understand, to feel that way and still be willing to— There’s something wrong with me. So it’s not crazy to think everyone would be better off if I was gone.”

No, no, no. This was all wrong. He loved her, _he loved her_ , and she couldn’t mean this. She couldn’t be telling him she loved him and in the same breath using it to justify almost killing herself.

“Clarke—” he choked, reaching towards her face. She turned her head away, and he let his hand fall limply to his side. He sat back on his heels as she stood up.

She walked a few steps away, then turned back. “I’m sorry. Forget about that. I really wouldn’t—” she paused, one hand reaching up to touch her throat. “It was the toxin. Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.”

“You’re really not, Clarke,” he said, shoulders sagging. “Please, I—”

“I am,” she replied firmly. She smiled falsely at him and his heart sank. “I should check on Murphy. Remember to take it easy with the leg. Be careful with your stitches.”

He stayed on his knees as he watched her go, her hair glinting gold in the setting sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (is it morally wrong to change the summary every time you post a new chapter lol)
> 
> hmmm I don't love this but whatever. I think there'll be one more part after this (maybe two, but probably one).
> 
> give me your thoughts. not to embarrass myself by begging for kudos and comments, but.... i'm begging for kudos and comments. please feed my ego.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time he spoke to Clarke she was dead.
> 
> Bellamy thought he’d known pain, thought he’d felt the worst of it when he’d had to leave on the rocket without her, but he’d never felt anything like this. The absolute brutality of having her body walking around, talking to him— and knowing she wasn’t in it.
> 
> ****  
> literally just a season 6 rewrite but what about it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for suicidal thoughts

The next time he spoke to Clarke she was dead. 

Bellamy thought he’d known pain, thought he’d felt the worst of it when he’d had to leave on the rocket without her, but he’d never felt anything like this. The absolute brutality of having her body walking around, _talking_ to him— and knowing she wasn’t in it.

It was desecration, and if killing Josephine didn’t look and feel so much like killing Clarke, Bellamy would have done it in a second. As it was, he almost killed Russell, and he wouldn’t have had any regrets.

But he gave it just a little too long, just enough for him to hear Murphy’s words, to see the way Josephine played them off each other. Killing Russell meant nothing to her, just an eye for an eye; because the chip meant he’d never truly die. Killing him —or his body at least— it was purely symbolic.

Symbolic or not, it would destroy their chance to have peace.

And Clarke— he knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to burn it all down for her, not when she was already gone. Hell, she wouldn’t have wanted it even if she was still alive, not that anything would’ve stopped him in that case. 

“She loved me, Murphy,” Bellamy said, tears streaming down his face as he held Russell by the throat. “She loved me and I let her die alone, again.”

Josephine rolled her eyes in such a jarringly not-Clarke way that Bellamy’s stomach flipped. “Yeah, it’s all very tragic. Now, are you going to kill my dad, or did you want to actually help your people for once?”

Murphy held up his hands placatingly. “Bellamy, man, I know. But she wouldn’t want this, not from you. She’d want you to live.”

Bellamy’s eyes were wild, flicking between Murphy and the parasite piloting the empty shell that used to be the woman he loved. His heart sat high in his throat, choking him, and he felt a scream waiting to be released.

“I don’t fucking want to,” Bellamy spat. “Not right now, not without her.”

He wasn’t— Bellamy wouldn’t kill himself. He wasn’t the type to do something so selfish, not when there were people who needed him, things he needed to be doing. But he’d lived this before, losing Clarke. And he’d fucking hated it. 

It had taken him years to be okay even _thinking_ about her, in any context other than as a faceless martyr. The memories of her that were so important to him, Bellamy had had to force them down, hide them from himself, so he wouldn’t break. He’d loved her, and wanted her, and missed her; but he couldn’t, not on the ring.

There had been no space for grief, not when there was nothing to do but wait. If he’d let himself feel it, like he was feeling it now; it would have consumed him, consumed everything in its wake. There had been nothing but time, and too many airlocks to stare longingly at.

But he’d had to be strong, be a leader, for the six of them and for his sister, waiting on the ground for him to come home.

He hoped this wasn't how Clarke had felt, alone in the wake of Praimfaya. The despondency, the utter lack of desire to keep going, to keep fighting: it was overwhelming. Back then, he'd had his duties, he'd had his crew and his resolve and his future.  Now— there was nothing.  Not really nothing, he knew, and he knew at some point he’d realize it, but for now— Octavia was lost to him, his friends were together and reunited with the rest of their people, and Bellamy was _not_ the leader this time.

Except, of course, that he was. With Clarke gone, Kane dying, Abby strung out on who knows what, Octavia and Diyoza AWOL, Indra still asleep, and the commander—Madi, Clarke’s _child,_ oh _God—_ essentially possessed; who else was there?

His arms fell slack, allowing Russell to breathe again. “You can guarantee the freedom and safety of my people? A compound of our own, where we can live independent of your rules and your rituals?”

Russell nodded, and Bellamy let out a long sigh, untangling his cuffs from around the older man’s neck. “Okay.”

Clarke— no, not Clarke, Josephine— snorted. “Well, that was certainly dramat—”

Bellamy cut her off sharply, his tone pure acid.

“ _Don’t_.” 

He would do this for Clarke, because it was what she would have wanted, but he wouldn’t listen to— to that _thing,_ parading around, acting like her existence wasn’t an abomination. He would do this for Clarke, because it was what she would have done for him.

Bellamy choked on the familiarity of the thought, of the refrain he’d said so many times over the past six years.

Russell unlocked his handcuffs, words falling from his mouth that Bellamy couldn’t seem to listen to, couldn’t even begin to process. The empty apologies buzzed like wasps in his ears, and he rubbed his wrists.

He thought about Madi, about how he’d have to tell her her mom was dead. He thought about Abby, who’d lost her husband and was on the verge of losing Kane, and how Clarke’s death would destroy her. He thought about Raven, and how she’d never get to forgive Clarke.

He thought about Clarke, and how she’d never know he loved her.

Murphy came to stand next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Bellamy shrugged it off, blinking back tears.

“We need to tell the others,” he said, and turned to leave. His eyes fell on the familiar blonde standing near the door, waiting for him, and for a confused moment, his heart leapt. She raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk curling at her lips. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Josephine said.

****

Bellamy didn’t breathe again for three whole days, until he watched her tap out ALIVE on her arm, and suddenly Clarke became Clarke again.

From then on, all he could think about was getting her back; clearing the bitch from her skull so he could look her in the eyes and have it be Clarke looking back. He told his plan to Echo, and she looked at him strangely, her expression unreadable.

He hadn’t really expected a whole lot of emotion from her, except on his behalf. Echo had never liked Clarke, never known her in the same way the rest of them had. They’d only known each other as adversaries, although Echo knew to some degree how Bellamy felt about Clarke.

But this— she was not only not thrilled, there was something else there, something behind her _I’m happy for you even if I’m worried_ mask. Sadness, maybe.

Bellamy could barely process it through the crushing joy, through the hope that galloped through his chest, but he did.

“Is something wrong?”

Echo pursed her lips, her expression thoughtful. “So you get her out, fry Josephine, save Clarke— and then what happens?”

Bellamy frowned, his forehead creasing. “What do you mean?”

“Bellamy, if this plan works,” Echo sighed, placing her hand on top of his gently, “If Clarke comes back, then this? Us? It’s over.”

“What? I—”

“It’s not a punishment, or an ultimatum. If something goes wrong, I’ll be here if you need me, but otherwise? I’m letting you go.”

And Bellamy—he didn’t have a response for that. His eyes softened, something bitter like guilt starting to encroach on the edge of his psyche. “I— I’d never ask—”

“I know.” She gave him a tight smile, pulling her hand back. “That’s why I’m not making you.”

It shouldn’t have felt so good, the nominal loss of a years long romantic relationship; but it did.It was too soon to have notions about the future, there were too many moving parts, too many what-ifs and looming deadlines. But this— it was right.

“I’m sorry,” he offered. 

“You’re not,” replied Echo, her tone brusque, “But thanks for saying it.”

She was right. He wasn’t.

Not even a little bit.

****

The overwhelming hope started to fade as the wall between Clarke and Josephine started to break down, but Bellamy had a plan, and he was doing his best to stick to it. He dragged the blonde—he wasn’t sure what to call her right now, with Clarke alive but Josephine piloting—through the forest, flinching every time she fell.

When she started seizing, he spent a moment wondering if, maybe, he wasn’t doing the right thing, but what else was there? He couldn’t let Clarke die. He wouldn’t. So he stuck to the plan, gritting his teeth and pulling her behind her.

Getting caught had not, of course, been part of said plan, but when had anything ever gone right for Bellamy?

As it was, they were trapped. Bellamy looked around, wracking his mind for ideas on how to escape. His companion was less proactive, content to keep running her mouth.

“Take you and Clarke, for instance,” Josephine said, chained to the wall of the cave beside him. “Now that’s a weird relationship, isn’t it?”

Bellamy’s lips thinned, his expression tightening. He’d had just about enough of Josephine at this point, but it didn’t seem like she had any sort of an off-switch. It was highly unsettling, the differences between her and Clarke, like some sort of uncanny valley. 

“First, you want to kill her to save your own ass, even though it means the genocide of your own people on the Ark.”

Was this— had she learned this from Murphy or from being inside Clarke’s head? Was Josephine able to see all of Clarke’s memories, or just the big ones? Did she know what Clarke had felt, what she’d thought? Bellamy hated the idea of that. It felt like— a violation. 

“And then you become besties, bonding over the actual genocide at Mount Weather.” She mimed pushing down a lever and Bellamy fought back a flinch. “‘ _Together_.’ You lock her up, she locks you up, you leave her on Earth, she spends six years pining only to leave you to die in the fighting pits. I mean, it's exhausting frankly.”

“Tell me about it,” Bellamy agreed gruffly. Pining? She’d been pining? Despite the knowledge that he had, despite what Clarke herself had told him, he couldn’t picture it.

“It’s funny how all your friends seem to hate Clarke for the fighting pits thing, anyways. Or I guess not anymore, because, you know, she’s as good as dead, but they did.” Josephine snorted, reaching a hand up to twirl a bit of hair between her— _Clarke’s_ —fingers. “I mean, really; the girl spent six years calling you on a broken radio, thinking that when you came back she could finally tell you she loved you, that you could be together.”

Bellamy felt sick. He’d known about the radio calls, been told about the love, but putting them together? He hadn’t let himself do that. Hadn’t let himself consider what Clarke had expected, or wanted. 

He remembered how distracted he’d been, those first few days back on the ground, before Echo and Monty and Harper and Madi had joined them. When it had just felt like him and Clarke again, against the rest of the world. 

There had been so much going wrong, so many plans in motion; but every time Clarke had been near him, his mind had gone nearly blank with overwhelming relief. His heart had raced and his skin had itched to touch her: to run his fingers over her skin and bury his nose in her hair and just feel her chest rise and fall, her breath a beautiful reassurance that she was there, that she was alive.

What if he’d known she was alive the whole time, that she was waiting? Would things have been different? Would he have been free to touch her, the way he had so desperately wanted to?

“But instead you came down with your shiny new girlfriend and promptly locked Clarke up so you could put a chip in her daughter’s head and paint a target on her back. Why is everyone acting like Clarke is the one who needs to be forgiven?”

Bellamy swallowed hard, deeply uncomfortable. He’d known the fallout that giving Madi the flame would have; she’d told him herself that Clarke would never forgive him. He just hadn’t been able to come up with a better way to save everyone he’d cared about. 

But he felt guilty over the way he’d treated Clarke after, and the way he’d let the others treat her. 

He just— he’d poisoned his sister for her, to keep her safe. And in a moment of quiet pettiness, his devastation that Clarke wouldn’t even try to understand, wouldn’t even try to save him back manifested in bitter words and actions. It hadn’t been fair, not when he’d known the consequences.

He’d thought she didn’t care, so he’d acted like he didn’t either. He knew now how wrong that had been, how much he must have hurt her.

Josephine let out a loud huff, leaning back against the cave wall. “Not to be righteously indignant on the behalf of a girl I desperately wish would fuck off and die already so I can have her absolute hot-rod of a body, but seriously, you guys suck.”

“Yeah.” Bellamy let out a harsh laugh, not a hint of amusement in it. “Yeah, we really do.”

Josephine kept talking, but he wasn’t really listening anymore, caught up in his own thoughts. 

“Can she hear me?” Bellamy asked, cutting off whatever rant she had been on this time. “Clarke, I mean.”

“Yes,” Josephine said blandly. After a beat her expression brightened, and she looked at him with curious excitement. “Is it confession time?”

Bellamy stopped, his throat working as he tried to pull his thoughts together. Josephine rolled her eyes. “She’s here, just say whatever it is you want to say.”

He looked her directly in the eyes; his gaze solid and sincere.

_I love you,_ Bellamy thought. 

“I won’t let you die,” Bellamy said.

****

“—once the head stops telling the heart to beat, it’s over.”

Bellamy shook his head hard, his pulse pounding in his ears, not quite drowning out the drone of the flatline.

“No,” he insisted, lurching towards the pale form lying still on the table, “No, it can’t be.”

His hands fell to Clarke’s shoulders, gripping at the smooth skin, shaking her. Was it his imagination or did she feel colder already?

He couldn’t handle this, not again.

Gabriel’s words sank in slowly, the familiar words echoing through his head. _His head_.

“The head and the heart,” Bellamy murmured, unable to tear his eyes from Clarke’s still body. He fought to recall what he could from Clarke’s cursory first-aid training at dropship, from the even earlier class he’d taken as a cadet in the guard. “The head and the heart.”

His hands linked together, fingers interlaced. He tried to remember just where to put them, how fast to push, how deep to go. Leaning over the table, he began to pump Clarke’s heart for her. 

Bellamy had never done CPR before. It was awful, gross, terrifying. He could feel Clarke’s ribs cracking beneath his hands but he didn’t stop, pushing hard and fast in as even a rhythm as he could manage.

In the back of his awareness he could hear Gabriel and Octavia telling him it was useless, that it was too late, that Clarke was gone.

“No, she’s not!” Bellamy threw over his shoulder, shrugging off Octavia’s hand. He couldn’t remember how many compressions he was supposed to do before breaths, but he hadn’t been counting anyways. His hands fell from Clarke’s chest and he moved towards her face, pinching her nose and tilting her chin up. 

His mouth sealed over hers, filling her lungs with his own breath. He watched as Clarke’s chest rose and fell, rose and fell; and then he went back to compressions.

“C’mon, Clarke, just wake up.” he begged as he pumped her heart. “Don’t leave me, not again. Madi needs you, I need you.”

She still wasn’t breathing. Bellamy blew air into her lungs twice more, tears sparkling in his eyes, desperate and hot. He switched to compressions.

He pushed hard against her chest, wishing there was something, anything more that he could do. Wishing for a shock baton, anything that could serve as a defibrillator. Wasn’t Gabriel supposed to be a doctor? Wasn’t there anything he could try, anything he could do?

Bellamy could feel his own heart start to beat erratically; panic and dread beginning to eclipse his unwavering belief that Clarke couldn't die, wouldn't die, not again. She had to wake up. _She had to._

His fists came down hard against her sternum, beating against her chest. “You’re a fighter, now get up and fight!”

The flatline droned on.

Bellamy felt something rend apart inside of himself. Less than composed, he moved back to her face, tilting her head back to give her breaths again.

“Please,” he said, the words ghosting across her bloodless skin, his tone broken. “I love you.” He blew a breath into her mouth, watching her chest rise. “Please come back to me.”

Clarke gasped sharply, her body wrenching up off the table. The heart monitor began to beep, fast and erratic at first, then slowly shifting into a steady rhythm.

It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. 

Bellamy gathered Clarke up in his arms, supporting her head. Her eyes flickered open, bright clear blue, and she blinked up at him. A tear fell from Bellamy’s face, landing wetly on Clarke’s cheekbone. 

“Bellamy?” Clarke asked. He nodded, heart in his throat. Clarke let out a small cry, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder.

“I love you,” Bellamy said, tears streaming down his face. He tucked his nose into her hair, breathing in her sweet scent. She was warm against him, and maybe he was imagining it but he thought her could feel her heart beat echo through her chest. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

She sobbed against him and he held her tighter. He knew that Gabriel and Octavia must still be in the room, but it felt at that moment like they were the only two people on the planet, the only two people in the galaxy.

“I love you,” Bellamy said again, eyes closed tight, fingers stroking through her golden hair. He felt Clarke take a deep breath, her limbs going slack as she gave in to exhaustion. He lowered her gently back down. His eyes looked over her hungrily, watching as her chest rose and fell on its own. The heart monitor beeped evenly, and he traced a finger across the soft skin of her cheek. “I’m here. I would do anything for you. I love you.”

****

He was at her side when she woke again. 

Bellamy sat beside the bed, one hand wrapped in hers, his forehead resting on their joined hands. He looked up as he felt her other hand stroke over his hair.

“Hey,” Clarke said.

A soft smile broke across Bellamy’s face. “Hey.”

“You saved me,” Clarke said, smiling weakly back. “The head and the heart.”

Bellamy let out a small laugh, pulling her hand to his mouth to press a kiss against it. “I’ll always save you, Clarke. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to save you.”

She moved to sit up and winced, one hand pressing against her ribs. “Ow.”

Bellamy flinched, one hand going to support her back, the other on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, your ribs— the CPR—”

Clarke waved it away. “I know, Bellamy, it’s okay.” She huffed out a laugh and stopped abruptly, wincing again. “I’ve had worse.”

_When?_ he thought. _Praimfaya? Before?_

“It’s fine; it doesn’t even hurt,” Clarke continued, her expression tight with pain. “We should figure out what we’re doing next, how we’re going to get back into Sanctum. How we're going to save our people.”

Bellamy watched her carefully, his eyebrows pulling together. “It’s okay to admit you’re in pain, Clarke. It’s what makes us human.”

“We don’t have time for me to be hurt,” she gritted out, swinging her legs over the side of the bunk. Bellamy stumbled back. “You’ve risked so much for me already.”

“Clarke,” Bellamy said, his tone soft. He put his hands on her knees, stopping her from trying to get up. “I’d risk it all again, don’t you remember what I said?”

Clarke looked at him quizzically, and he let out a deep sigh. “I love you, Clarke.”

She flinched visibly. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do,” Bellamy insisted, taking her hands in his. He looked up at her, kneeling before her. “I love you, I’ve always loved you, and I always will.”

And he did. Bellamy wasn’t sure when he’d fucked up, what he’d done to let Clarke think that it might not be true, but he would do his best to make that up to her, everyday for the rest of their lives.

She looked away, throat ticking. “You can’t, you have— what about Echo?”

Bellamy suppressed a deep huff. “It’s over, Clarke. Me and Echo— It was never going to last, not with you alive.”

Her eyes flicked back to his. Bellamy didn’t like the expression he read in them. It looked— guilty. “It was my fault?”

Bellamy cursed. “No— I mean, yes, but it wasn’t— Clarke, it’s always been you for me, and Echo saw that. Hell, everyone saw that. I’m not expecting anything from you, I just want you to know—need you to know— that you are loved. I love you. I’m sorry I never told you.”

A tear started to slide down her cheek. Bellamy caught it with a finger, brushing it away. Clarke’s hand came up to cover his, and she looked him in the eyes. 

“I love you,” she said, her voice small.

He felt his heart soar, pulse rushing in his ears like waves crashing on the shore. Clarke’s eyes closed, and she leaned into his hand, brow furrowing. 

“What’s wrong?” Bellamy asked.

Clarke’s lips pressed together tight then opened. “I’m afraid.”

“Of me?”

She shook her head, biting her lip. “Of this.”

Bellamy frowned, moving to sit beside her on the bunk. His hand cupped her face, feeling her soft skin beneath his fingers. “Me too.”

“Why?” Clarke asked, another tear falling from her closed eyes. “After everything, with everything else that’s going on; why is this — us, together— so scary?”

Bellamy tilted her chin up, meeting her eyes as she opened them. He looked at her with deep sincerity, his gaze soft. “Because it’s real.”

Clarke nodded, her eyes never leaving his. After a beat, she blinked. “The others. We still need to—”

Bellamy cut her off. “I know, soon, just—” He swayed towards her, his face so close to hers. Clarke’s eyes flickered to his lips, and his to hers. “Can I kiss you?”

Clarke nodded again, short and perfunctory. Bellamy leaned in, his fingers resting softly beneath the curve of her jaw. His lips found hers, a gentle press, almost nothing.

“I love you,” he said against her lips, and smiled. 

Clarke’s fingers slid into his hair, pulling him forward to kiss him again, harder this time. He chased her lips, and their mouths slid together, working in time. They learned together, how best they fit together, how hard to press, what it felt like to drag their teeth across the other’s lip. 

When she pulled back again, they were both breathless, hearts beating fast.

“I love you,” Bellamy said again, his chest warm and full.

Clarke gave him a soft smile. 

“I love you, too,” she said, and stood. She extended a hand for him and he took it, rising off the bed to stand beside her. “Now let’s go finish this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, I told you part 3 was coming and here she is. I know this is lowkey a cop-out but I hope it is a satisfying enough conclusion. tbh idk how much the same story this is but whatever man 
> 
> (also I love the cpr scene as much as anyone but from a medical perspective HORRIBLE technique. Like just simply not even kinda pushing hard enough, or in the right place. just no effort made to look realistic. ya gotta add a little bone crunching for accuracy)
> 
> I just got back from two weeks in the mountains so the rest of my fics should maybe also have updates this week, we'll see. smell ya later
> 
> throw me some kudos and comments if you feel so obliged


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